Shadows in the Desert
by xcaliber234
Summary: A chip. A gun. His past. This is what has been taken from the hedgehog who was shot and left for dead. He will walk the roads of the desert, treading the line that divides two armies locked in stalemate. His past is gone, how he acts from now will change history. But who is the girl he sees in his dreams? And why does her name haunt him? (Rating may change)
1. The game was rigged from the start

_**(The following takes place in an alternate universe of the Sonic world that you all know. It takes place in mobius, but there is some Fallout element, e.g the main story line which I will alter. For now enjoy!)**_

War. War never changes.

Mobius, a planet once teeming with life. After a decade of bloody conflict, the need for victory was too great for either side, and the end of the world as we knew it. Detonation after detonation of atomic weaponry scorched the planet, leaving almost nothing in its wake.

When the war began, those who survived did so in large underground cities known as Zones, where thousands lived in safety and comfort within their walls. When they opened, their inhabitants walked across the ruins of a world long destroyed. They began to rebuild new societies, establishing villages, forming tribes.

As decades passed, the people of central Mobius united just like had in the world that had come before. They were brought together beneath the flag of the New Acorn Republic, a system of democracy, dedicated to the rule of just and fair law. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking land and fortune, in the dry and barren landscape of the Mobian Desert. When they returned they did so with stories of a city untouched by the weapons that had scarred the rest of the world, and a great wall spanning the River Cornath.

The NAR gathered its forces and sent them east to occupy the Amadeus Dam, and restore it to working condition. But across the Cornath, another society had arisen under a different flag. A great army of slaves, forged in the conquest of 98 tribes: Solaris' Dark Legion.

Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam - barely - against the Legion's vicious attack. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river, they gathered strength. Campfires burned, training drums beat.

Through it all, New Casinoplois has stayed open for business under the control of its mysterious overseer, Mammoth Mogul, and his army of converted tribals and ancient robots, created by a world conquerer long forgotten.

This story is one of many in the long war that is day to day survival. This is the story of a Courier, hired by the Desert Express, to deliver a package to New Casinopolis. What seemed like a simple delivery job has taken a turn down a one-way road to destiny.

In the dead of night, a light shined from the center of the darkness. It was not uncommon for fires to be lit in the wastes. But this was different. The lights shone a variety of colors, each set unique.

From the centre of the sprawling, drunken neon lined city that was New Casinopolis, a tower glowing a blank pale white erected above the city. It stood towering in all it's majesty above the droves of Mobians of both genders, most of whom too drunk to find their feet.

The tower could be seen for miles around in any direction. It stood as a monument to the world that had long disappeared under the poisoned fire of atomic weaponry.

But whilst the voices of Casinopolis drowned each other out over the gates and into the surrounding area, a different kind of sound was being made many miles away where only the lights of the strip were seen. It was the sound of metal striking sand. The sound of digging. The digging of a grave.

It was being dug atop a large hill, looking over a small sleepy town in the small hours of the morning. The soil was dotted with grave markers, most just a simple wooden cross. All off it loomed over by a large water tower that did little more than stand for decoration.

A small lantern hung from the hand of a large brown bear, his blue eyes watched with boredom as one of his associates, a green road runner continued to dig a large hole in the surface of the hill.

And lying beside was the holes new owner, a mobian whose face was hidden beneath his hat, that sat over top of his face. His hands were gloved and bounded, as well as his feet. He laid on the ground unconscious whilst his grave was slowly dug right next to him.

Also surrounding the site was a green lizard, whose pale white eyes watched their captive intently. A scruffy brown wolf who stood there with his arms crossed and eyes set on the hole that was being dug.

Away from the rest of them however stood a lone figure, who stared off into the distance at the neon glow of New Casinopolis. He was coyote with short but very well kept black hair. Whilst the other gathered mobians wore worn leather clothing, his checkered suit was most certainly not one that should be found outside the walls of the strip.

But then again: A pack of ruffians is ordered and paid by a finely dressed individual to bury a stranger in the middle of the night. Sounded like just another night in the Desert.

The couriers vision slowly came back, his head beating like a drum. At first he thought maybe he might have just collapsed in the hot sun that usually went hand in hand with the Desert. But as he went to rub the back of his head, he knew that he had not simply dozed off. Unless he had spontaneously tied himself up whilst unconscious, he was pretty sure that he had been jumped.

Although his vision was still coming back, his hearing worked just fine.

"Alright you got what you wanted. So pay up already!" a gruff voice demanded.

A sigh, one of a softer tone came, it's owner sounding like he had his back turned to the courier.

"You're crying in the rain pal." it responded.

The courier knew that he was in for it, but surely his attackers didn't know how to tie a good knot. He tried to pull himself free of his binds, but he came to the conclusion that his captors had done this before.

"Hey! Guess who's waking up over here!" a voice said excitedly, and the courier cursed to himself.

He looked up at some of his captors, his hat slipping off his head.

He sees the coyote, cigarette in hand as he turns to face his captive. He takes a hit of the rolled up tobacco before throwing it into the dirt, crushing it with his well polished shoes.

"Time to cash out then." he said, his eyes meeting with that of the Courier.

A frustrated groan escaped the wolf, whilst the road runner looked on with eager anticipation, the shovel still in hand.

"Will you get it over with?" the wolf snapped.

The coyote glared at his frustrated associate, before addressing his gaze bak to the Courier. "Maybe you Sand Blasters don't look a man in the face before killing 'em. But I'm no fink, you dig?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small circular object. A poker chip that shone softly under the light of the lantern.

"You made your last delivery kid. Sorry you got caught up in all of this." he reached into his pocket once more, and instead pulling out a completely different item. It was a 9mm pistol, polished pearl grips whilst the body was engraved with ivy and floral details. And to top off the weapons majesty a nickel finish.

At the sight of the gun, the Courier struggled to get to his feet, a harsh snarl on his lips, causing both the wolf and the coyote to jump back in surprise. He had actually made a decent enough distance which sent a decent share of fright into the two, at least before he was kicked back into the ground by the road runner, who proceeded to kick the courier into submission.

"Jolt?" the coyote asked, causing the bird's actions to cease and his gaze to turn to his employer. "I think he gets the point."

The runner grumbled and walked back beside his comrades, feet dragging and muttering under his breath.

Once the courier was done getting air back into his lungs he looked back up at the coyote, his teeth bared viciously and a deep growl emitting from his throat.

"Now, now no need for that kind of attitude buddy. I mean sure you're a dead man but it doesn't mean to say that you can't accept it." he took a moment to admire the weapon in his hands. "I'm not sure what was the better prize. The chip, or this little beauty." he said with a smirk before looking back to the enraged courier.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of her." he laughed a little. "It's ironic isn't it? Being killed with your own gun. For you it must seem like an eighteen carrot run of bad luck. Truth is," he said with a sigh, raising the pistol to level with the courier's skull. "the game was rigged from the start." and with that the trigger was pulled and the shot carried over the hills before dying down.

The party looked down on the now lifeless form that laid tied up in the soil.

"That was awesome!" Jolt exclaimed, leaping up and down in excitement, ready to strike the corpse with the shovel that was still in his grasp.

"Jolt!" the wolf yelled, causing the runner to flinch and back away.

"Alright boys," the coyote spoke, "if you would be so kind to bury our friend here and then we can make our way back to Casinopolis."

"Where we'll get paid, right?" asked the lizard.

Not a word came from their well dressed employer, he just pulled out another cigarette and began to sing.

"How lucky can one guy be; I kissed her and she kissed me. Like the fella once said, Ain't that a kick in the head?" he went on singing as he walked away from the site, leaving the Sand Blasters to their work.

When they were done, they too vacated the area after their employer. Little did they know that from a distance, they were watched. From out of the shadows a large metallic figure strode into the graveyard.

The metallic being stood at least seven tall, with thin tubular arms and a pair of similar legs as his source of movement. His face was a small dome that seemed would have been mistaken as a part of his body had it not been for the small blue eyes and drawn on smile. The only thing about the robot was a white wide brimmed cow boy hat that sat atop his head.

Beneath the towering figure rested the site that had been recently vacated, along with the freshly dug grave. Its grand architects however had made one flaw, they had left one hand and both feet twitching above the ground in their mad rush to not be left behind and risk the loss of pay.

The twitching was enough of a sign of life to convince the metal man that the stranger was "still kicking". So with one claw full of sand at a time, he began to resurface the man that would cheat death itself, along with something else entirely. With the mobian would resurface a lust for vengeance that would burn across the mojave, shining brighter than New Casinopolis.


	2. Most hated day of the week

_Shadow..._

_The word bounced around the unconscious mind Courier. It was as if some one was calling out to him, or his own mind was wanting him to remember the word. _

_Shadow..._

_The Courier wasn't sure where he was. The last thing he remembered was... nothing. His mind was blank, save for that one word that refused to stop echoing._

_Shadow..._

_Was he dead? Where was he? If so he didn't seem to recall dying. He supposed that that was a little unfair, not even knowing how he went. All he could hear was that word, over and over again. _

_"For you it must seem like an eighteen carrot run of bad luck..." _

_That voice, it seemed so familiar. So closes... but why?_

_The coyote. The one in the suit. He took her. He took the chip, the gun, and now he had taken her too._

_Maria..._

_A name. Who was this Maria? For the briefest of moments a face flashed across the surface of his unconscious mind._

_A hedgehog, bright blue eyes, golden blond hair and a faded blue dress._

_Maria... who was she? Why was she the only thing he remembered of his past second only to his own execution? _

_"The truth is..."_

_The truth was what? Who was Maria? Why did that Coyote ambush him? What was so important about the gun? What was so important about the chip?_

_And who or what was Shadow!_

_"The game was rigged from the start." and there it was again, that split second burst of sound and light that sent a nine millimeter bullet through the head of the Courier, and his mind faded to black._

He hated Mondays. Even in the post-apocalyptic world the old duck was still stuck with the seven days of the week. One of the side effects after living in a U-Zone, whose dwellers were the only ones who bothered keeping the time. Sometimes he tried to forget what day it was, and by about thursday or friday it would all start to cloud over again, but then Monday would come around. And he always knew when it was Monday.

It wasn't because it was the first day of the working week and the end of the weekend. In fact Horatio Quack didn't have weekends, let alone working weeks. He was a doctor, one of the few reliable ones outside of Fort Jules. But the closest thing he ever had to a medical emergency were gecko bites, and even then that kind of thing was rare. One of the perks of living in a near ghost town.

So whenever he didn't have anything to do, the old duck would just sit in silence, rocking back and forth on his chair just outside his house that over looked the town with his one eye, the other hidden behind an old worn eye patch. But still, he hated Mondays.  
However this monday, which had started in the god awful hours of the morning, had been somewhat interesting. He received a new patient. When he heard knocking on his front door he had expected it was just some poor soul who had been jumped by a pack of geckos. Of course this had not been the case.

No, his new patient had taken a bullet to the head. Chester, an old Egg Pawn who had come clanking down from the graveyard with the stranger in his arms. At first Quack was ready to pronounce the patient dead on arrival whilst he was still on the front porch. But as soon as he heard the stranger mutter a name, he knew he was dealing with a cheater.

A cheater. One of the lucky few who were able to cheat death itself. With a hand that suspiciously held all the right cards.

It had now been at least three days since he received his patient. The old doctor hadn't believed that he would survive. But several times he had repeated what he had said the night he was brought in. A name, not one that Horatio had heard.

Maria. He assumed that it must be a relative of some kind, most likely a sister, spouse or child. As much as it might help his patient when he awoke, it wouldn't do any good to his condition. At least for his physical one. But who knew. Maybe some where in the strangers head he was holding on for whoever had that name.

The old duck smiled at the prospect. Holding on for love. Very poetic. As beautiful as it was poetry wouldn't help the stranger. He was in God's hands for now. Which meant he was shit out of luck because God had long abandoned the human race.

However there was nothing on the courier that suggested the couriers identity or any next of kin. There was no mention of a "Maria" in any of the papers that he had on him. The only thing was a contract from the Desert express. Strangely it didn't have the Couriers name on it either. All it talked about was a platinum chip.

Quack just dismissed it, it was none of his business and he really shouldn't have been going through the couriers stuff. But still, the man was lucky to be alive, and the doctor doubted that the courier would care about what the old duck had done. He had saved his life after all. The least he could do was be thankful.

Doctor Horatio Quack hated Mondays, but he had a good feeling about the Courier that had been out in his care early that Monday morning.


End file.
